Ladies Night (3 page)

The one picture that wasn't of his family was of him and Jesse, a childhood friend. When his father put him out, Jesse hadn't hesitated to let Amp crash at his place for a couple months until he could save up enough money to get his own spot. He was a good friend, almost like a brother, the coolest white guy Amp had ever met, but after a while Amp had to keep him at a distance too. Jesse sold dope back in the day, and Amp didn't want anything to do with that.

Amp wondered how Jesse was doing. He prayed for him and for his family often. Hopefully God hadn't been writing “return to sender” on his prayers too.

Inside the envelope there were also a few newspaper clippings. He flipped past these quickly; they were the toughest for Amp to look at because they reflected the darkest times in his life. He had made a choice that he would have to spend the rest of his life trying to make amends for, even after prison. He wasn't ready to face his demons just yet, so he kept it moving.

Amp picked up a couple more pleasant pictures and looked at them, trying to focus on better times. He had read a couple of self-help books in prison that taught him how to have power over his mind by visualizing and focusing on the positive. He often practiced this philosophy in jail to keep his sanity, and was utilizing it now for the same reason. Pulling out a few of the opened letters, he read them over again, just as he had done on more occasions than he could remember. It was no surprise that he practically had them memorized. Reading the “good” letters was almost like hearing his family and friends' voices. Maybe that was why Amp insisted on doing it so often. He sometimes needed to hear voices other than the ones that often taunted him in his head.

When Amp finished reading one letter, he placed it to the side, revealing another newspaper clipping. He froze, staring at the headline as the paper trembled in his hand. Why couldn't he just put it down? Why did he insist on going back in time when he knew all of the hurt and pain it caused? He tried to keep it together by being emotionless, hard, and strong. That is what had protected him while he was in prison.

Yet he was no longer in prison and no one was watching. His eyes filled with tears of shame as he thought back to that night that changed everything. He hadn't mean to hurt her, but he did. He let his family down, his friends, and most of all himself. Amp didn't want to keep revisiting that night. He wanted to stay positive, hopeful for the future, but his conscience wouldn't let him forget all of the damage he had caused in an instant. So much regret.

Amp heard Paul shouting from downstairs. “Lights out in ten minutes.” He hadn't realized so much time had passed. He'd sat there reliving his past, almost down to the second it seemed.

Laying on the bed, he closed his eyes, hoping to turn off the barrage of guilt he often unleashed upon himself. He wanted to think about something else, anything else. He was emotionally and spiritually drained.

There was a knock on his door, and then he heard Paul repeating, “Lights out in ten minutes.”

“Cool,” Amp replied.

He sat up and put all the items back in the envelope, except for a picture and a newspaper clipping. The envelope went into the top dresser drawer, underneath his underwear to conceal it. He stood the photo against the clock.

Pulling out a pair of boxers and a wife-beater, he dropped his towel to the floor. It was nice not to have to look over his shoulder while he got dressed. He hung the towel over the bathroom door to dry, then hit the lights and got into bed.

Picking up the one newspaper article he had not placed back in the envelope, he stared at it, using the light from the moon that was sneaking in between the blinds. Amp knew that one day he would have to right this wrong. He just didn't know how.

It wasn't long before Amp had drifted off into a deep sleep, finally in a bed other than one fit for a seven-year-old, with an inch-thick mattress on top of some wire coils. Unfortunatley, his sleep wasn't as restful as he had hoped for.

Every few minutes Amp shifted from side to side, tossing in the bed, moaning and groaning. The word “No” escaped from his lips. His eyes were closed and there was nothing but darkness, yet they seemed to be wide open to the past. Amp could see everything in his mind's eye happening now—all over again. It was a nightmare. It was a nightmare then, and it was a nightmare now.

Amp's body tensed up as if he were bracing himself for impact. He took in a deep breath. He could hear the screeching sound of tires and then the sound of a loud crash.

Amp shot straight up out of the bed, eyes now wide open. His chest was rising up and down rapidly as he breathed heavily. The things he had just seen in his dream were so vivid, so real. Momentarily, he wasn't sure where he was. He was haunted by the darkness.

The room was black and silent, with the exception of the sound of Amp's breathing. There was a blur and a stinging in Amp's eyes. Slightly dazed and confused, he ran his hand across his forehead and caught the persperation before it could drip down his eyelids and into his eyes again.

He looked down at his shirt, which was stuck to his skin with moisture. He began to calm down, realizing that he was in his room at the halfway house. It was just another bad dream.

Amp's eyes made their way over to the clock that revealed that it was three a.m. Next they landed on the picture he'd leaned up against the clock. Amp walked over, picked up the picture, and then laid it face down. He had beaten himself up enough for the night. Reading the article had worn him out mentally. Remorse and guilt filled every crevice of his being.

He walked over to the bedroom door and slowly opened it, sticking his head out into the hallway to make sure the coast was clear. All of the other three upstairs bedroom doors were closed. The fifth bedroom in the house, which was Paul's, was downstairs.

Amp padded barefooted down the hallway, the hardwood floor creaking with nearly every step he took. He didn't want to wake any of the other housemates. Of all the rules Paul had beaten him over the head with, he hadn't mentioned whether getting up after lights out was a house violation. Amp hoped not. It wasn't like he was attempting to leave the house.

Making his way into the ample-sized kitchen, Amp grabbed a glass out of the cabinet and filled it with water. He took a sip, then paused, thinking he'd heard something. He listened for a few seconds, but there was nothing but silence. Amp shook off the notion that he'd heard something and finished the much-needed water. He was always dehydrated after his night sweats. Refreshed, he put the glass in the sink and then turned to head back upstairs.

He paused again, certain he'd heard something this time. The sound was coming from the direction of the living room. Walking as quietly as he could, Amp tipped into the living room, where he saw Paul.

Paul was in his own little world. Wearing a T-shirt and some pajama pants, he sat in a worn but comfortable-looking La-Z-Boy recliner right next to the stereo system. He was wearing headphones, but Amp could still hear what sounded like some old soul music playing. Paul sat there, none the wiser that he had company, bobbing his head up and down.

When Amp moved a little, Paul must have seen him in his peripheral vision. He turned around, looking startled. He pulled the headphones off his ears.

“You can't sleep either?” Amp asked.

“I told you,” Paul said. “We all got shit.” He placed the headphones back on his ears and went back to his own little world.

Amp looked at Paul and nodded in agreement. “Good night,” he said, even though he knew Paul couldn't hear him. He then headed back upstairs, disappearing back into his own world of memories as well.

Amp had been notified during breakfast that he needed to wash the dishes after everyone had eaten, so there he stood, elbow deep in suds. He didn't mind though. He had occasionally done kitchen detail in prison, and washing dishes for five or six people was nothing compared to cleaning up after hundreds.

“Just in case you had no idea what to do today, tomorrow, and the day after that,” Paul said, entering the kitchen with a piece of paper in hand and then sticking it onto the refrigerator. “Now you do.” He turned and looked at Amp. “That is a list of the rest of your chores for the week. You're the new guy, so you're up to bat,” Paul informed him. “House tradition.”

Shaking his head, Amp wondered if that tradition had just started with him. As he returned to the pile of dishes that needed to be washed, a couple of the other housemates walked over and added more dirty dishes to the stack. Having seen a light at the end of the tunnel just seconds ago, Amp cut his eyes at the growing heap now casting a shadow on that light.

“When I'm done in here—” Amp looked at the pile of dishes again. “If I ever get done in here, I'm gonna get out and put in some job applications.”

“That sounds like a plan,” Paul said, looking somewhat surprised that Amp was already on the hunt for a job.

“It usually takes the average convict a few days to get up the courage to go tackle the workforce,” Paul said frankly.

“Maybe I'm not the average convict,” Amp replied.

“We'll see.”

“Any suggestions on where to start?” Amp asked.

Paul thought for a quick second. “There's a mall not too far from here, up by the expressway. Lots of stores and shops. There are some restaurants and sports bars over there too.”

Amp nodded. “I need to find somewhere to cash my check from my prison job.”

“There's a check cashing place over there, if I'm not mistaken.”

“Yeah, there is. Right next to the liquor store,” one of the housemates chimed in as he scraped his plate into the garbage can and set it on the pile of dishes that seemed like it would never get smaller. “That's the first stop guys from the house usually make after cashing a check anyway.” He was laughing, but stopped abruptly once he saw the serious look on Paul's face.

“That's funny to you, Brad?” Paul said sternly.

Amp checked this Brad dude out with a quick once over. Brad was a stoner-looking white dude. If there'd been a comedy club over at that mall, Brad would have fit right in—or at least Brad probably thought he would have. He must have used humor to get by in jail, Amp thought. A person had to use whatever tactic he could to survive in that place.

“You must be the new guy,” Brad said to Amp. “I'm Brad.” He extended his hand.

With both hands in the dish water, Amp just looked at Brad's hand and left him hanging. He did hit him with the “what up?” head nod though. “Amp,” he introduced himself.

“Well, good luck finding a job, Amp,” Brad said, not sounding genuine at all. “Everybody here is trying to find a job.”

“Some a little harder than others,” Paul jumped in. “Speaking of which, when is the last time you put in a job application?”

Brad's eyes immediately shot downward. “Well, uh . . .” Brad hesitated. “I gotta go. I'll catch ya this afternoon, Mr. Harold.” He scurried off, bumping into one of the chairs at the table. “Nice to meet you, Amp,” he threw over his shoulder before he disappeared from the kitchen.

Paul looked at Amp. He had no words in regards to Brad; he simply shrugged and exited the kitchen as well.

With no more housemates adding to the pile, Amp was finally able to finish the dishes—or so he thought. Just as he turned around to go get ready for his job search, one more of his housemates entered the kitchen with a plate and a glass. “Damn.”

 

 

About ten minutes later, Amp entered the living room, heading for the door. Paul was sitting on the couch, reading the newspaper.

Looking over the top of his paper, Paul said, “I didn't mention it earlier, but if you get any crazy ideas about not coming back . . .”

Amp, who was almost out the door, turned around to face Paul. “Mr. Harold, I've been in prison for the last fifty-four months. I ain't doing nothing to mess this up.”

“That's good to hear,” Paul said, even though he'd heard it before and only half believed the new housemate. Paul didn't put anything past any of those cats. It was his job not to.

“Besides,” Amp added, “I ain't one to miss a meal either. I'll be back by lunch time.”

“All right, now that I believe.” He chuckled. “You got your ID, social security card, and all your paperwork?”

“Yep,” Amp said as he walked out the door.

There was a computer in the house that the parolees were allowed to use with a twenty-minute time limit, so Amp had looked up the directions to the mall before he left the house. Now, he passed by the bus stop where he could have gotten a ride to the mall, preferring to walk. He wanted to save what little money he had, and it wasn't that far anyway. Plus, it had been quite a long time since he had been able to walk anywhere alone. This walk was free, literally, in every sense of the word.

The look on Amp's face said it all as he walked on the sidewalk along the busy street. He was enjoying the bright rays of sunshine, even if he had to shield his eyes every now and then to see where he was going. He was also enjoying the warmth of the rays on his skin and relishing the sound of the cars whizzing by. Almost always in serious mode and ready to handle business, for once Amp was relaxed, letting his mind, body, and soul absorb all the sights and the sounds, so much so that it had subconsciously put a smile on his face. His outside was now reflecting how he felt on the inside.

The last few years of his life might not have been good, but if the sun shining, the birds singing, and the sweet smell of fresh air were any indication of what lay ahead, today was going to be a good day.

 

 

“Can I help you?” The young Caucasian woman behind the counter at the dollar store had a cheery smile on her face as she waited to serve Amp. She looked as though that was what she was born to do: wait on customers in a dollar store with a permanent smile on her face.

“I was wondering if you guys were hiring,” Amp said.

“Well, uh . . .” All of a sudden that smile dropped right off her face. Just a few seconds ago when she thought she'd only have to entertain Amp for the next five minutes, she was as happy as a Jay bird. Now that there was a chance that she might have to spend eight hours working next to him every day, she didn't look so happy anymore.

“If so, I'd like an application,” Amp said, ignoring her change in demeanor. “I'll work part-time, weekends, anything.”

What was left of her smile looked forced as she said nothing.

“Do you have any applications?” Amp said , wondering if there was something wrong with this woman.

“Well, no . . .” she started, trailing off. The woman's mouth hung open as she contemplated her next words. Amp noticed her eyes darting over toward the corner of the store, then darting back at him. He turned in the direction where she'd been looking, and noticed a small desk with a computer. Taped to the desk was a small sign that read:
ONLINE APPLICATIONS.
If the woman hadn't been so obvious, Amp would have never even noticed. She could have simply told him they weren't hiring and he would have been on his merry way.

“We don't have any applications . . . at least not any paper ones. Everything is done electronically now. On the internet.” Apparently she didn't want to straight out lie, especially now since Amp had seen the computer.

“So I just go over there to fill out an online application?” Amp asked as he started toward the computer.

“No! Well, yes, but uh . . . that computer is down.” Her smile was back, but it looked a little devious now, like she was proud that she'd thought quickly on her feet.

Amp was onto her now and realized what type of game she was trying to play with him. Instead of getting angry, he just decided to play along. “Oh, really? The computer is down, huh? Well, you know I'm pretty good with computers,” he lied just to mess with her. “It's a trade I learned in prison.”

“Prison?” She swallowed hard and her eyes bucked. The poor white girl's skin turned as red as cherry Kool-Aid.

“Oh, yeah, I served a little time.” He enjoyed toying with her, but hid it well.

“Uh, well . . .” Her nerves had her shaking. The blond hairs on her arms stood up. “I can't allow you to touch that computer. Like I said, it's out of order and besides, I don't think they're hiring anyway. They just hired two people last week.” She snapped her finger. “Darn, sorry about your timing.”

“Is that so?”

She nodded. Amp noticed the beads of sweat trickling down her forehead. If she had spoken another word, she probably would have thrown up right there on the counter.

“Then I guess I'll try back again, what, say next week?” Amp stared hard, knowing how uncomfortable it made her. “I mean, you never know. You guys could be hiring again sooner than you think.”

She looked too nervous to speak at this point. Amp considered messing with the lady further, but decided against it. He really had better things to do.

“You know what? Forget it.” He gave a Kanye shrug and left the store. Clearly he wasn't going to get hired at that place, so he headed for his next opportunity for employment.

 

 

Amp hit up several more spots, and lunch had come and gone by the time he made it back to the halfway house. Amp entered the front door. The subconscious smile that had been on his face earlier that morning was now replaced with a very conscious frown.

“Don't worry, Annie, the sun will come out tomorrow,” Brad joked. He was on the couch, watching television along with another housemate named Melvin.

Melvin was an average-looking cat weighing about a buck fifty. Tall and slender, he stood about six feet six inches tall, which meant 150 pounds didn't look like much on him. It was safe to say that once upon a time he'd probably battled an addiction.

Melvin snorted at Brad's comment.

“Looks like somebody had a rough day,” Brad said, elbowing Melvin while nodding at Amp.

“I ain't in the mood, man,” Amp said to Brad in a cold tone.

Paul entered from the kitchen and caught Amp's comment. “How'd it go?” he asked, even though it was pretty obvious from Amp's demeanor. “You weren't back at lunch time, so I figured . . .” His words trailed off as he waited to let Amp reply to his initial inquiry.

Amp answered with a look of disdain, as Brad continued to laugh about the situation. Amp shot Brad a “leave me the hell alone before I whoop your ass” look, and that shut him up.

“I think I'm gonna go stretch my legs,” Brad said to no one in particular as he headed for the kitchen.

“So, did you hit that mall?” Paul resurrected the conversation.

“I went to more than thirty stores and restaurants over there. Most of 'em wouldn't even give me an application.”

Amp wasn't exaggerating either. Some places clearly had
HELP WANTED
signs in their windows, but when Amp asked for a job application, he was told, “Sorry, sir. We're not hiring right now.” Then, of course, there was the whole issue at the dollar store.

Paul looked sympathetically at Amp for second and then said, “Come here. I want to show you something.”

Amp sighed, not in any kind of mood for show and tell. He just wanted to go to his room and be left alone right now. Paul's statement wasn't exactly a request, though, so Amp followed Paul, who led him up the steps.

They entered Amp's room. A puzzled look pieced itself together on Amp's face as he wondered what in the world Paul could possibly have to show him in his own room.

“Come on in here.” Paul directed Amp into the bathroom.

Amp was a little suspicious. He was fresh out of the joint; he couldn't be too trusting too quickly.

“Stand in front of the mirror,” Paul ordered him.

Amp did as he was told.

“Look.” Paul pointed at Amp's reflection.

Amp looked, but wondered what there was to see besides the same face he looked at every morning. Truth be told, Amp didn't really care for mirrors. Guilt and regret met him there daily, so unless it was necessary, he avoided them.

“Would
you
hire you?” Paul asked. “Huh?”

Amp didn't respond, still not sure what point Paul was trying to make.

“Your shirt is too big,” Paul pointed out. “And your jeans are baggy.”

Amp's jeans were quite baggy. They hung so low that his back pockets could still be seen hanging below the hem of his oversized shirt. Amp pulled his pants up and tightened his belt. He definitely didn't want anyone to confuse his baggy pants for a sag. Back in the joint, if a cat sagged his pants, it meant that he was advertising his interest in male sexual interaction. Amp definitely wasn't about that life, so he made certain that he didn't dress like he was.

“Then there's that beard of yours.” Paul had a disapproving look on his face. “I don't understand what this whole thing with these full beards is with these young cats. Trim that thing. Clean it up or something.” He pointed to Amp's head. “And you got that cap on your head. So I ask you again: Would you hire you to run a cash register or to work at a department store?”